Bones
by KryntheFae
Summary: Harry shares his ice cream with a lonely mutt that reminds him of Sirius. You'd think that would be all to it, wouldn't you? Come on, this is the 'Chosen One' we're talking about! Harry's adventures in an Parallel Universe/Alternative Universe. Eventual slash. Currently Rated T. TomHarry. TMRHP.
1. Chapter 1

**Bones**

_KryntheFae_

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Series belongs to JKR, of course, I am merely a humble fan of her work.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

He took a step into the renovated shop, the cool sweet smells luring him in from the summer heat. The witch behind the corner perked up when she noticed him, the bell tied to the door signaling his arrival.

The shop was by no means empty, which meant a few glanced up at his entrance and looked away - then did a double take.

"Hey, isn't that - "

"Oh _Merlin_."

"I didn't know Lord Potter had a sweet tooth… "

With a barely concealed grimace Harry made his way to the counter. He gave the mint green-haired shopkeep a sincere smile as a greeting.

"Harry! It's good to see you, you're looking well," she winked at him, placing her manicured hands on her aproned hips. "It's about time you paid me a visit. Your handsome face is such a nice contrast from those sticky first-years."

"Good to see you again too, Lisella," Harry blushed at the older witches words. "Sorry I haven't been in the shop for quite some time. Been in Ireland for the last couple months."

"Everything alright over in Lucky-Land?" she asked. Harry snorted.

"Yeah," he answered. He adjusted his Auror robes, the collar peeling off his heated skin in a not entirely pleasant fashion. At least the shop was cold. Had to be or their main product would melt. "We were stuck a bit longer than expected. They had an unreported outbreak of spattergroit. Four of the previously stationed officers had to be isolated and treated away from the first camp."

"Oh, ew." Lisella stuck out her tongue, her freckled face curling in disgust. "Not so lucky after all, ey?" Harry shook his head in bemusement.

"Unfortunately not," he replied softly, the hint of long-time suffering in his breath.

Lisella gave him a sympathetic look. She gestured to the case of delicious frivolities.

"Well! Don't let me stop you from selecting one of our delicious specials. What'll it be, Savior?" Harry couldn't control his wince at her word choice. Merlin, was he ever ready for people to stop calling him that. It seemed like his past would continue to follow him. Likely even _after_ his death. Oh wait, technically it already had. Ha.

Lisella winced along with him seconds after speaking.

"Ah sorry Harry, forgot you disliked that one."

Harry gave her a conceding smile. Honestly he hated _all _of them, not just 'The Savior of the Wizarding World'. I mean really, they weren't even original.

She grabbed the biggest ice-cream cup they offered, which indeed was quite large and gestured to the cooler case. "What'll soothe that sweet tooth of yours today, hun?"

"Hmm," Harry hummed, already forgetting the previous_ faux pas _as he took a look at the buckets of colorful ice-cream on display.

Following the last few years after the end of the Second Wizarding War, Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlor had been reopened after the owner's passing - much to Harry's and surely many other young witches and wizards sincere delight.

Lisella Fortescue - Florean's granddaughter, was the one who managed the joint. Her three younger brothers balanced the shifts and accounting work. She was a spunky, but tender-hearted witch whose oddly colored hair often reminded him of Tonks. She had told him on a previous visit that she'd forgone her last year at Hogwarts to nab the place from her parents, who'd wanted to sell it.

The second the quirky shop had reopened Harry had bee-lined for the Chocolate Raspberry Swirl, flavored with chopped nuts. The nostalgic smile on his careworn, adult face had endeared Lisella to him immediately, who happened to be a couple years older than himself. Harry had grown found of her as well, as Lisella never gave him special treatment because he was 'Harry Potter'. Merely because she thought he was cute - or so she often said!

He now made a point to visit the cheery establishment at least every other week, at his lunch hour. Harry just couldn't resist the haven from his childhood, a place filled almost entirely with happy, simple memories. Such memories were too precious to forget amid the darker ones.

"You know I think I'll go with the French Vanilla this time." Harry pointed to the right tub. The simple creamy flavor too inviting to forgo something of a more complex palate.

"Why, how very _vanilla_ of you Harry," she winked at him again, wrapping up his order immediately.

"What?" Harry gave her a confused look. "Of course. It _is_ vanilla after all."

"Oh you're no fun," she pouted, shaking her head at his childish innocence.

Harry could only raise his eyebrows in bewildered amusement. He stuck the pink plastic spoon she gave him in his mouth, keeping it there with his teeth as he paid her the required knuts - and a few extra galleons.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you," Lisella pocketed the extra coins and gave him a bright, grateful smile. "See you next week, Harry."

"Goodbye," Harry gave a short wave as he past through the door. Every eye that had watched him purchase his ice-cream followed him as he stepped back into the heat of August, their hungry, curious gaze just as hot on his back as the blazing sun.

He sighed, keeping the spoon in his mouth as he walked through the crowded street, drawing attention here and there but he made no point in stopping. He needed a quiet, cool place to eat his treat. Then back to work.

Unfortunately, he had picked the worst time of day to get his sugar fix.

Diagon Alley was filled to the brim with young, to-be, and current Hogwarts students being escorted by their family, the narrow streets crowded and swollen with people. Making a quick decision Harry pulled the hood of his Auror robes over his head, despite the stifling warmth. Sweat aside, he really didn't want to be detained for questioning and autographs that late afternoon.

Harry used his hand to protect his uncovered ice-cream, deciding muggle London would likely be a better place to enjoy his precious treat. He made his way to The Leaky Cauldron.

Just as he was edging around the last corner of the North Side, a glowing set-up in the window of Flourish and Blotts caught his eye.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening in growing horror.

In the center of the display was a blown up image of himself, outlined in a thick gaudy frame.

A candid shot he'd never seen before, it was of Harry descending a large knotted tree - without magic. In one arm he held a precious boon of thick matted fur.

Harry watched in shocked silence as the 2D hologram of himself placed the plump cat back on the ground, bending down to give it a soft petting.

He remembered that cat. A stray he'd noticed on the way to work who'd climbed up a tree a touch too high. He'd thought of naming it Dr. Mittens and taking it home with him if it hadn't run off the second he released it.

Speaking of.

A tortured sound, much like a dying animal left Harry's lips as he watched a small, sweet smile grace 'Bookcover-Harry's' face as he waved the cat goodbye the animal bounding away without a second glance back at him.

Harry had half a mind to place his ice-cream down in order to barry his flushing face in his hands.

No. No no no. No. NO. Oh gods, he was never going to be able to get over this. Forget the people of significance he worked with, his _friends_ would be taking the micky outta him for the next few decades of holidays.

Glowing paper fairies fluttering around and smiling at possible customers, beckoning them in with their tiny pale hands, turning the pages of the_ book_ as if demonstrating the quality of paper.

There were stacks upon stacks of the shockingly thick volume, placed in and around the bookshop window, each hard-backed in a thick, burgundy velvet. The title was written in a extravagant loopy script of glistening gold ink. The same title was written below the blown up picture himself, the cover, which Harry read with a sickening dread that soured his stomach.

"The Hideously Heroic and Glorious Good Deeds of Lord Harry James Potter. Third Edition"

Harry stared open-mouthed at the gaudy display for quite some time, his pink spoon hanging precariously at the corner of his lips.

"They even put my middle name," Harry whispered. He felt something stagger, flop over and die within him. His pride? Sanity? Any hope to be taken seriously again?

As if sensing his strangled emotions, the weather gave mercy on him, sending a swooping gust down the alley, making some witches cry out as their shortened skirts flew up around them.

The breeze blew past Harry as well, curling and twisting around the birds-nest medium length hair. The sharp coolness was a respite from the heat and Harry's poor, dizzied condition. Unfortunately, in order for the wind to tousle his hair, it first had to remove Harry's hood from his head.

Harry blinked, patting his damp hair with his free hand, understanding reaching him too slow to be of any service.

And then a scene not unlike what had preciously occurred in Florean's happened once more… magnified to a hundred.

"Mum! Mum, it's Harry Potter!"

"Gerald, for goodness sake if I hear you 'Cry Potter' one my time…

His wide, panicked eyes met those of a middle aged witch in a obnoxiously colored hat, topped with what appeared to be a pissed off chipmunk. In one hand was her large sidebag, the other the hand of a small child who looked about eleven.

That brief moment of silence had never been so long - nor so short. A shirek so shrill it rang through the Alley pieced his ears so sharply he thought they might bleed.

"OH MY DEAR SALAZAR, IT _IS_ LORD POTTER! _THE CHOSEN ONE_, OUR _SAVIOR_! GRAB HIM! _GRAB HIM AND GET HIS AUTOGRAPH IT'LL BE WORTH _BILLIONS_!"_

The blood drained from his face.

Seemingly coming back to herself the witch gave him a searching look, a thoughtful frown on her face. She began rummaging through her bag, paying no mind to Harry's stiffening figure as she murmured to herself under her breath.

"Bloody good, what was that hair-cutting spell again, I'm sure a single lock of that thick head of hair would be worth twice - no thrice!"

_"Oh, bloody hell."_

In response to the shriek, many more voices had come to attention - some hushed some just as loud and terrifying ping-ponged all around him. Harry was beginning to feel quite small.

And quite afraid.

"Potter? As in thee, 'Lord Potter'?"

"Fred! Did you hear that? Why is he _here, _at Diagon Alley?"

"Getting his christmas shopping done early?"

"Perenia said she saw him at that old ice-cream parlor - I didn't think she was telling the _truth_!"

Before he could be stampeded to death by his 'adoring but far too enthusiastic fans' Harry disapparated. The sharp crack echoed despite the now swarming witches and wizards.

Lisella frowned, her fingernails halting their bored tapping against the laminate.

The excited hollering and sound of hundreds of feet carousing about the alley had reached all the way back to her little shop, the bell at the door ringing away as the foundation began to shake.

"Oh Harry," she sighed, understanding right away the only reason for such an energy switch in the peaceful alley. "Poor kid can't go _anywhere_ or do _anything_, can he?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Bones**

_KryntheFae_

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Series belongs to JKR, of course, I am merely a humble fan of her work.

Also, super huge thanks to my first reviewer! You made me smile like a fool as I worked on this chapter, I hope it is well received~!

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**Chapter 2**

* * *

Much to Harry's desperate relief, he had managed to disappear from the approaching hoard of adoring witches and wizards before one could send a cutting hex anywhere near his precious head of hair.

What Harry _didn't _know was he'd lost his pink spoon just as he'd vanished - the crowd descending on the innocent piece of plastic like a pack of starving wolves… but that's a story for another time.

Unfortunately, the sudden transition from one place to the next hadn't been smooth as he landed hard on his knees, the thin skin bruising beneath his trousers. He groaned, and stumbled to his feet. His boots _clacked_ on hard, paved road. It didn't take long for Harry to figure where he had suddenly relocated himself. The identical strip of houses and close-cut lawns were a dead giveaway.

Privet Drive.

Merlin, he hadn't been there in ages. Not since his seventeenth birthday, he tried to remember how his final goodbye had gone... from what he could piece together, not well. How strange that this was his minds idea of the "to-go" place of freedom from the terrorizing crowds of Diagon Alley.

There was a faint honking noise and Harry looked up, watching as a group of geese flew in a low above him, the sky a clear blue and the air clean, and fresh. A respite to his harried senses. The grass on every lawn was dying from lack of hydration, and the granite sign that introduced the row of houses could use re-lettering.

No, actually. Harry _could_ see why it had been the first place in his mind to run too.

There was a peace about it. An ordinary, unspeakable peace; both familiar and lonely. Memories of his childhood played in his mind, some bad and some not so horrible. Summers as hot as this one spent weeding rose bushes, and weekends spent watching after Mrs. Figg's ridiculous amount of cats…

Speaking of those cats. A tabby with a fuchsia pink collar bolted past him suddenly, crossing the street in a flurry of little paws, the attached bell _tinkling_ along with her movements. Harry watched it barrel it's way through a cat-door installed in one of the grey houses. The road was quiet once more.

'Well it's certainly been awhile, hasn't it?' Harry reflected solemnly, his hand coming up to scratch his head. Tiny pinpricks of pain erupted on his scalp as his fingers stuck to the strands when he tried to pull away.

Harry blinked, and jerked his hand away from his hair. Oh, for the love of!

He looked down at the bent and beaten cup in his fist, the thin plastic not surviving the sudden shift of location as well as he'd hoped. The hand he'd used to protect the uncovered ice-cream was coated in a sticky melted chill.

"So much for that idea," he grumbled, flicking some of the excess from his fingers. The sun was just as high and unforgiving in Surrey as it was in London, the large cup now filled with little more than sweet-smelling liquid goop.

Harry sighed again, frustrated that his afternoon had gone so horribly. He glanced around him. The paved cul-de-sac he stood in was silent as a morgue, the families who lived in the line of houses seemingly all out of the house or asleep, leaving Harry to stare at their doors with nostalgic contemplation.

Without wanting, his dreamy green eyes were guided to the Dursley's home; Number 4.

There was no car in the driveway - quite likely, at this time Vernon was at work. Harry squinted, wondering if he could make out Petunia's horse-like face peeking through the lace curtains, pulled tightly closed, as he'd remembered.

A part of Harry wanted to knock on the door and go in. Not to greet his Aunt - oh no, she'd probably turn a horrid shade of puce and demand his immediate extermination, let alone exit. No he just… there was something in him that wanted to check. His old room, the garden he'd spent so many years pruning to perfection.

Perhaps, a short look at the cupboard.

Harry shook his head roughly, a strange sense of not-quite curiosity building. He didn't have time for this he - he needed to get back to _work_. They needed him in on that Kripke lead. He needed to sort through the files, and request the evidence they'd already gathered… really he had so much to do he didn't have time for a jaunt to the past.

But still. Something pulled at him again, a tightness in his chest. The thoughts came, little questions after his childhood he'd never thought to ask. Were the little plastic soldiers he's filched from Dudley's stash of broken toys still sitting in a row under the steps? The thin mattress still crammed in the tiny space? The Gryffindor banners and Quidditch posters Ron had sent him torn from the walls?

Had the Dursley's removed all evidence of Harry from their lives?

He scoffed at the thought, leaning his weight on one foot as he forced his eyes away from the Dursley's home. He wouldn't be surprised if they'd burned every memory of him the second he walked out of the house. It'd been seven long years. For Dumbledore's sake he was almost twenty-four. An adult wizard. A man.

With resolution in his step he turned away. But he didn't leave.

Still.

There was something pulling him to it, the vague, ordinary little house. Harry's eyes sought out the tiles of the roof, each perfectly placed in neat, even rows.

"Did they even remember me?" he wondered aloud, that pulling sensation was beginning to hurt. Remember _Harry_?

He knew he looked different now. His hair was a bit longer, still just as black and ridiculous of course, and his skin wasn't as smooth, not as youthful. He was more careful of his actions, and more matured, stood tall and proper. No longer slouching like a scared little boy.

Stronger.

He couldn't say anything against the fact. He _was_ different. A different person, a different man. Likely unrecognizable to his horrid relatives. They didn't _deserve_ to know this Harry.

And yet…

The burning curiosity continued to build and Harry found his feet leading him to the plainly painted door.

'I really shouldn't be doing this,' Harry thought with a tired frown, feeling years older than he truly was at that moment. He reached out the not-sticky hand to ring the doorbell, listening to the familiar pattern of chimes with apprehension. He half expected his uncle's usual thunder of "Boy!" and a younger, skinnier version of himself to peek from the window down at him, locked in his room.

He wondered if it would be awkward to ask if he could throw his ruined ice-cream in Petunia's trash. He waited for a moment, the lack of response causing stabs of nervous impatience to create little holes in his turning stomach.

Perhaps no one was home? Not entirely unrealistic. Harry studied the door, tried twisting it with his fingers, but it didn't budge. Locked, of course. His relatives were horrible people but not entirely stupid. Sometimes.

Harry was reaching for his wand, when he stopped. A sudden memory making him look around warily. Just because the curtains of most of the houses were pulled closed didn't mean people weren't watching him.

The residents of Privet Drive had always been a nosey bunch.

Just as he was thinking of trying a wand-less _Alohomora, _a loud scratching noise come from behind him.

For an instant Harry thought it might be his uncle pulling up in the driveway. A spasm of anxiety ran down his spine and he closed his eyes, reading himself for…

_For what exactly?_ A barrage of insults? Questions as to why he'd decided to face them with his presence after all those years? A smack?

His eyes shot open-wide at that errant thought. _Bloody hell_, what was he doing?! Its not like he was a damn kid anymore!

With a steadying gulp of air, Harry made to turn around, fast, he wasn't a damn coward and

And. He blinked owlishly.

His shoulders dropped from their raised position. All the tension and anxiety leaving him with a rush of air. It wasn't his uncle's car in the driveway.

A dog stood in front of him; a mutt really, with thick matted fur that was too dirty to defer it's natural color. It's large, suspiciously focused blue eyes watched him warily, looking ready to bolt at a moments notice. It swished it's tail nervously beside itself, the long tangled hairs dragging across the gravel.

The crunch he'd heard.

"A dog," Harry breathed, his shoulders beginning to shake as peals of near-hysteric laughter escaped his open mouth. Gods! He'd been on the brink of making himself sick over facing a _dog_! Perhaps Ron had been right, anyone would need therapy after growing up with the Dursley's. The animal flinched at the sudden harsh sounds, ducking its head and flattening its ears to its skull.

He immediately stopped being crazy and shut his mouth, giving the hungry looking creature an apologetic expression. He suddenly felt quite numb, a bit tired. That sensation of the tangibility of his years came back again.

Harry shook his head, he was being foolish, stupid. Indeed, he wasn't a kid anymore, so why was he acting like one? Visiting his _relatives_? What had he been thinking - nothing at all apparently. He released the death-grip he'd had on his wand, and sat on the porch step, uncaring if any neighbors might by spying on him.

He set the ice-cream cup, and why hadn't he gotten rid of the ruined desert yet, either, he had no damn idea; he'd woken up a complete idiot that morning, next to him. Harry tipped his head back, admiring the Dursley's porch light as he took a breath of the clean air, far from the pollution of the city. A low whine interrupted his thoughts and Harry tilted his chin to stare at the stray who still sat a few feet from him. It hadn't run off yet.

"Hey boy," Harry said soothingly, offering a hand. It blinked at him and padded forward with interest, its bright eyes targeting his palm with a worrying intensity.

Harry noticed the outstretched hand was the sticky one and cursed, holding it away from his work robes as he fumbled for his wand with his left. Unnoticed, the dog crept closer still till it was right beside him.

_"WOOF!"_ The crisp bark next to his sensitive ears made him flinch to attention, breaking the silence of the Drive. And then his fist was surrounded in a warm wet cocoon.

The dog had essentially swallowed his hand, its sharp teeth digging into his palm, not causing pain but _noticeable. _The beasts jaws kept its prize trapped as it used a large, leathery tongue to lick at the remnants of Harry's ice-cream.

"Er," Harry said, going still.

He was frozen in shock. The dog blinked it's clear eyes, almost clever as they watched his reaction. Harry could only swallow the lump in his throat. Was this the part when Harry Potter lost his wand hand to a previously thought harmless stray dog? 

* * *

Hermione Weasley heaved a heavy sigh, filled with annoyed wariness and exasperated love, balancing a baby on one hip and a a large paper box on her other. The pins keeping her thick curls out of her face were starting to slip.

"Ronald! Your mother sent us another package!" she called, trying not to drop either of the precious boons from her strained arms. Although if she had too, Mrs. Weasley's homemade treats would have to survive their trip to the floor - no matter how delicious her huckleberry scones were.

"Sorry Mione'!" Her husband returned, leaping down the stairs, his long legs allowing him to skip three at a time. She pursed her lips, wishing he'd be so enthusiastic when Rose needed a changing. He grabbed the package of food of course she internally huffed, and walked over to the kitchen. Hermione followed, adjusting the baby to a better position.

"Was just trying to firecall Harry," Ron explained, grabbing a couple glasses from their muggle manufactured fridge, and pouring them each a serving of milk. "Malfoy said he never turned up after his lunch hour apparently. The pointy git was getting all huffy just talking about Harry, you'd think he'd be over the stupid rivalry thing they had going in school. It's been _years_." He stuck his hand in the box of goodies, withdrawing a canister of what appeared to be peanut butter biscuits with a joyful cheer.

Hermione shook her head with a silent sigh, watching her husband dig in.

'Like you're one to talk, Ron,' she wanted to say out loud but held her tongue. Instead, she stole a biscuit before they disappeared entirely. Her mind started to wander at his words, making her chews slow and thoughtful. It wasn't like the black-haired boy to be tardy - he was more responsible than that. And loved his job.

"You don't think he got into trouble, our Harry, do you?" Hermione asked, dread and worry, a stormy mass filling her instantly. Her lashes might have even wetted. Goddamn hormones.

Ron gave her a knowing look.

"Oh come on Mione', this is Harry we're talking about," Ron said, digging for the largest biscuit of the bunch, stuffing it in his mouth as soon as he found the right one.

"Exactly." She raised an eyebrow. "As in _Harry_."

"But he's '_The_ _Vanquisher of Volde-bits', _remember?" He wiggled his crumb coated fingers at Hermione, making her scowl and protect their child from the onslaught. Ron immediately looked reproved, and stood to press a kiss to their sleeping daughter's forehead.

"I'm sure he's fine, probably got caught up with the crowds. Poor guy's more popular now than ever," he continued in a softer tone, looking into her eyes and wrapping an arm around her shoulders in an effort to be comforting.

Where there might have been a hint of jealousy before the war, there was now only honest commiseration. A sentiment Hermione clearly echoed. Harry was something of a celebrity, almost _royalty _with how he was treated these days.

She hated seeing his sweet uncomfortable face at every event he was forced to go to, looking utterly miserable and ready to flee in those horrid stiff dress-robes.

His chosen profession had been a bit of a break from the media at least, sending him to different spots across the country, and sometimes even abroad. Even then, the Ministry and the Wizarding population seemed hard-put on not relinquishing their prying claws from his shoulders, always finding some reason or other to bring him back to the light, push him onto their pedestal so that they might admire him closer. And Harry, quite obviously, hated even second of it.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Ron cried suddenly, spooking her from her rambling thoughts. Hermione softly touched Rose's cheek to see if his father's insensitive shout had woken the little one. It hadn't. She turned back around to watch Ron rummaging through the pocket of his Auror's robes. There was a brief sound of accomplishment as he lifted his prize from the dense pockets.

What he had in his hand was the last thing Hermione would ever expect the man to pull from his robes.

A book.

"Saw this in the window up at Blott's, and had to pick it up. It's the reason I dropped by this afternoon for lunch," Ron explained, sounding equal parts amused and completely disgusted. That peaked her interest. The curious little bookworm in her was excited to see what could have intrigued Ron enough to purchase a book _voluntarily_.

Then she saw the cover.

"Oh Merlin, _no_," Hermione said, grabbing the thick tome from his hands with her free one. It was bound in a rich, burgundy velvet, the ridiculous title standing out in glittering gold ink.

She felt a touch guilty as her heart swelled watching the cover picture play out, having to make effort to keep the adoring smile from consuming her face. She all but pushed the book back into Ron's arms making him scrabble to catch it. She frowned deeply, knowing what this would mean for Harry.

"He might actually die from embarrassment with this one," Hermione fretted, the baby at her side starting awake with a high-pitched cry. 

* * *

Startled, Harry tried to scoot back and immediately regretted it, as his hand was obviously not following along with the rest of him. The mutt started to growl low it its throat, the vibrations rolling up his arm.

"Um, good dog?" Harry said, trying not to sound like he was going to cry. Cause he obviously wasn't - he just didn't take potential amputation well - specially his own. He thought of casting a mild stinging hex it to try and make it release him, but the second the thought crossed his mind he instantly new he couldn't. He didn't like causing innocent things pain. And it hadn't really hurt him. Yet.

It seemed his fears were for not, however, as after a few moments of further charged stillness the mutt let go. Harry snapped his hand back, cradling it to his chest as he scrambled away, his robes getting tangled in his shifting legs. He continued to flee till his back stopped his movements with a thud. Oh. The Dursely's door. That's right, well suppose he'd find out if anyone was home for sure now, with all the noise he was making.

His attention snapped back to the dog, who was watching him now with it's head tilted, like he couldn't understand why he had made so quickly to get away from it. Like it _hadn't_ just tried to rip his hand off, the picture of innocence, truly. They watched each other for another tense second, Harry cautious, and still holding his _still sticky _hand, now slick with doggie saliva.

"You," Harry started, preparing himself in case he needed to flee… but the dog seemed to have suddenly lost all interest in Harry. It sat in front of him uncaringly, body shaking with the force of it's pants. Now that he wasn't being attacked Harry could examine the mutt closer. He seemed a bit overheated. And harmless. A bit lonely, with the way it sat next to him solemnly, unmoving. Swallowing his doubts Harry made a rash decision and reached out his palm, _again_, gods he really was an idiot, and gave the beast a hesitant dog gave him a sidelong glance at the touch, then shifted his weight him so he was leaning against Harry's side. "… could use a bath," he finished in a rush of words, resisting the urge to plug his nose as a waft of wet-dog hovered about him. His fingers tangled in the innumerable amount of mats in the dirty fur. The dog just continued to pant happily at his words, staring somewhere off his shoulder.

And then it noticed the abandoned cup at his side and froze, and shifted to stick in face right in front of Harry's to give him a rather pathetic case of the puppy-eyes.

"You can have it," he muttered, scooted the cup closer to the rather thin looking mongrel. It gave him a ridiculously pleased expression for something that wasn't human, and started lapping up the liquid with the air of the starving.

Not caring if any muggles saw him do something _freaky _Harry pulled out his wand started casting some cleaning and sanitizing charms on his right hand. He made a fist with it, then spread out his fingers. Urgh. Finally.

The dog sat up next to him and leaned close enough to swipe it's large tongue down the side of his face, swiping his glasses and making the left lens completely unusable. Harry yelped and again scooted away from the excited animal, landing against the door with another loud thump.

"Oh _gross_! Dammit Sirius, how many times do I have to say, that is not the proper way to convey your happiness."

He recognized his mistake immediately and the laughter in voice left. He continued to smile, however, and his petting became softer, more careful.

"You remind me of him, just a bit," Harry told it, trailing his hands along the large ears that sat high on its head. He'd said the same words to nearly every dog he came across after losing his Godfather, but he couldn't help it, they did. Maybe it was their simple nature, their loyalty. Whatever it was, Harry couldn't bring himself to get a pet dog, for it was hard for him to stay in ones presence for too long, even after all these years.

The dog huffed at him as if sensing his sudden gloomy disposition, and started snuffling Harry's collar. He chuckled, patting the long snout.

"Is it fun, being a dog? Or wolf actually, you certainty look like one," Harry mumbled. The wolf-dogs coat was medium-long in length and Harry wondered how it would like after a fresh wash, probably not nearly as scary. For a single tempting instant, Harry considered breaking into his relatives house to give the dirty beast a bath. The idea of the Dursley's coming home to a house streaked with muddy paw-prints and suds overwhelming.

And then he remembered. _Magic_.

'I don't know what possessed the ministry to make me an Auror,' Harry closed his eyes with a self-deprecating sigh, ignoring the sudden twitching in his skull.

"_Purus_."


	3. Chapter 3

**Bones**

_KryntheFae_

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Series belongs to JKR, of course, I am merely a humble fan of her work. This chapter contains information obtained from the Harry Potter wikia~!

Thank you for waiting for this chapter, I know it has been awhile. : )

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

_"Purus."_

Before the words had even left his lips the mutt was backing away from him, it's too-long claws clacking on the cement porch. It was useless; the spell flew straight and swift, hitting its target with ease.

A sudden gale whipped around the animal though the trees around them did not sway. Years worth of grime fell off the poor thing's coat vanishing along with the wind.

It looked even more like a wolf than he'd first thought, Harry observed, coughing behind his robe sleeve from the lingering dust. The fur was just as thick and lengthy as he'd expected. It was tinged an arctic white so pure the afternoon sun made him almost too painful to look at.

It stared back at him with sapphire eyes; wide and fearful.

"Hey," he tried, coaxing the animal back into a state of relaxation. He wasn't surprised at the dogs reaction; paranormal activities often did not sit well with the non-magical. He reached out his left hand, hiding his wand behind his back.

Unfortunately he didn't appear to like his idea of gentleness as it backed away from him in a flurry of paws, crushing the ice-cream cup with a stray limb. It thumped into the metal wall that was the Dursley's garage, with a dull _clang_.

Harry frowned and followed the spooked breast. He was an idiot; the poor thing was likely terrified of him now. He retracted his hand and let a soft, apologetic smile grace his face.

"It's alright! Really, it's was just—" Harry started, but feral blue flashed, and sharp teeth bared themselves at him. A low growl ripped from the dogs throat, reminding him exactly who was in control there. Deep. Warning.

Harry stopped moving immediately, an equal noise of discontent at his lips. He frowned at the dog, but it only continued to grumble untrustingly at him. So they were back to square one—_brilliant_.

"You know, if I wanted to hurt you I would have used a far more painful sound than a mere cleansing charm," he murmured, attempting to sound soft and non-threatening. He likely just sounded like a pouting toddler when their puppy no longer came to them, having played with it too roughly. The dog's eyes lingered at his back, somehow understanding the location of his hidden wand.

Not thinking of any possible consequences Harry lowered it carefully to the ground beside him. The dog relaxed noticeably as he took a few steps from the innocent length of wood, prompting a crooked smile from him. He'd never been unsurpassable at Care of Magical Creatures, but perhaps he wasn't so bad with Muggle ones.

_Tinkle. _

Harry glanced around at the faint sound of a bell. It was the same tabby from earlier, he pinpointed; slipping back out the flap in the next-door neighbors door. It pattered in a cautious circle before settling on its owner's porch, watching Harry and the dog with bright, curious eyes. Harry turned back to the white mop of fur in front of him and tried what had worked earlier.

"You can trust me," Harry said, meaning it. He held his breath as he stretched out his hand one final time. It tilted its head at him shrewdly, eyeing his bare palm with obvious disappointment. It waited a moment, checking the air with a loud sniff before padding over to lick his palm. It gave him a wounded look, like he'd just lied to the beast.

Harry snorted, wondering if grabbing his wand to conjure a piece of perfectly fried bacon would be a wise move or not.

There was a flash that caught the corner of his eye—a car, turning onto the private road that lead to the tragically ordinary housing track. A 2008 Vauxhall Vectra.

His froze. He'd recognize his Uncle Vernon's car anywhere; everyone on Privet Lane drove the same one, after all. Harry observed it carefully, keeping a steading hand on the dog as its ears perked curiously.

The vehicle turned in sharply; ignoring the speed-bump as it rambled onto the private street. The woman in the passenger seat appeared to jerk forward, clenching the hand-bar above her head. She appeared to be bickering with the driver, a young man with a mop of thin, blond hair and a familiar round face.

"Dudley?" Harry muttered, moving to stand. Well, that could only leave one guess to the identity of his companion. He squinted through his glasses, barely making out the outline of his lovely, horse-faced aunt.

They continued to snap back and forth, Petunia clutching a hand to the back of her neck as though she might be enduring a stoke. Harry shook his head, bemused by the spectacle. _His_ Aunt, disagreeing with something _his_ Cousin did? He hadn't known such a thing possible, though to be fair he'd seen it once before. It was the night he'd left his relatives for good. A faint memory of shaking his Dudley's thick hand and Vernon and Petunia's deep, disproving expressions rose to the forefront of his mind. It was one of his stranger memories of his relatives, though he wouldn't exactly consider it a bad one.

_Tinkle. _His gaze flickered to the pink-collared cat as it sprinted across it's owner's pristine yard crossing the street in quick bounds. It was likely startled by the blared horn as the car shot forward—barely missing another speed-bump. Was his cousin learning to drive? A little late in life to be honest, though that didn't surprise him. Worriedly, he scoured the street for stray children… they really should have started somewhere less populated.

"_Woof!_" Harry was hit without warning; knocked down by a furry weight. His forgotten companion leapt over his prone form with ease, eyes locked on it's '_tinkling' _prey as it scrambled across the road.

A heavy sense of foreboding filled his chest.

"_No!"_

He struggled to his feet, his robes tangled between his legs, and sprinted after the oblivious animal. It was steadfast—and completely oblivious to the _Vauxhall Vectra_ as it neared the section of road in front of the Dursley's house.

Harry cursed, pushing his legs to move faster. He threw his body on top of the anguished animal who barked woefully, wriggling underneath Harry as the cat disappeared into the forrest lining the houses, escaping through a tear in a fence.

Now, if it'd been any another but himself, the dog surely would have met its unfortunate end and that would have been the end of it. The hard shell of the vehicle no match for its starved, vulnerable flesh. But Harry was fast. He worked quick, digging his fingers into the scruff of the wolf-dog's neck and hurling it away from him not a second too soon.

There was a screech of brakes, followed by a thick _thump _and solemn silence. It lasted exactly seventeen seconds before the quietness of Privet Drive was broken by an ear-shattering shriek.

"_Mummy! _Are you alright, did you get hurt—_oh_ _God_. L-Look at it... _I didn't see them!_ You were screaming at me the whole time, how could I have… have… ," Petunia's face was white, drained of blood as she stared with wide, unseeing eyes at the terribly familiar man who lay in front of her husband's car.

A pool of blood was gathering underneath the crown of disheveled, crow-black locks.

Her son was whining at her, pleading, as he shook her stiff shoulders, but she wouldn't budge, frozen in shock as she was. "Mum, why won't you answer me! Wait, what are you... w-why are you looking at it like that_—they're_ not _dead_, are they? I...I _killed someone... Wait._ What the hell are they wearing... are those _robes_? HARRY?!" Dudley gaped, his hands falling heavily from his mother's shoulder. He didn't notice when she fainted. 

* * *

His lashes fluttered.

It was at times like these when Harry wondered how Professor McGonagall could have ever sent him a letter to Hogwarts. He obviously wasn't qualified. Not if he couldn't even remember to use _magic_ like every goddamn, normal wizard. His entire body ached; a reminder of his 'heroics'. He only hoped his cousin and aunt were not nearly as effected as he'd been in the crash. A muffled voice called his name, female, from the thin, ringing quality.

"Harry?" Was that Ginny? Had she been the one to find him, passed out on the ground in front of the Dursley's house? How _embarrassing_.

At least she would know the fate of his lovely relatives. He tried to open his eyes to check, but they snapped shut as soon as pinpricks of light entered, pain shooting up his spine despite having only moved his eyes.

Harry moaned, gripping his head as it spun... or he would have, if his fingers had done more than twitch uselessly at his side. There was a beeping noise somewhere around him; loud and alert, and that too made his head sting. He gave another regretful cry, forcing his eyes open a second time, ignoring the pain in his desire to know his current location. _Where the hell was he?_

He watched through blurred lens—his glasses, they'd been removed from his face—as a young woman with a blob of wheat-colored hair tapped her wand against the machine beside him, her movements quick and professional.

She wore lime-green robes, on which was clipped a illegible name-tag. He recognized them easily, disoriented as he was. St. Mungo's.

So he was in a Wizarding hospital. The tight knot in his chest eased just a bit, though he was glad it wasn't a muggle institution it didn't mean he wouldn't prefer to be out of the sterile building. He never liked hospitals, Wing's or other.

The young Healer moved away from the machine monitoring his vitals and handed him his glasses. Once on his face, he was able to see that the witch was indeed young; possibly his age or a year or two less. She had large eyes and a smattering of freckles beneath them. Her hair was pulled into a low tail, a few wispy's floating prettily around her small face.

He tried to give his thanks but his tongue felt swollen and stuck dryly to the roof of his mouth. She noted his difficulties with a quiet blink and conjured a glass of cool water, guiding it to his chapped lips.

She didn't say a word as she helped him, a glimmer of curiosity in her wide blue eyes as she watched him gulp down the liquid with gusto.

"Thank you," he rasped. He gave her a small grateful smile, reminded faintly of Dumbledore's own twinkling irises. There was a loud knock on the door and a wizard in matching lime robes entered the room.

Harry didn't notice the female Healer's pinkish cheeks as she backed away from his bed, handing the newcomer a board with clipped parchment. He read the papers with several quick eye movements before handing it back to her.

The new Healer strode around the room in quick strides, mimicking the actions of the young woman. He had well-groomed facial hair that reminded Harry of a stereotypical french man and a sleek cherrywood wand gripped purposefully in the palm of his hand. It was with the standard English lilt that he spoke to Harry, however:

"Mr. Potter," the wizard greeted, treating him to a cheesy smile. He sounded very happy to see him. Harry resisted the urge to Apparate.

Of course, _Harry Potter_ was his patient! What marvelous tales he could tell his jealous co-workers. Harry just hopped he didn't go to the press: _"Lord Potter Almost Slain in Tragic Meeting with Muggle Car!"_ It was not a headline he ever wanted to read, let alone allow to be printed. He shivered at the thought. The Healer introduced himself, the toothy smile fading to a pleased quirk of the lips.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my friend! I am Healer Richards, and this," he gestured to the young witch still clutching the clipboard to her chest. "—is Ms. Selwyn; my intern." He walked around a tray holding a collection of potions. It was a surprisingly large room. Decorated withwarm painted walls and vintage furnishings. There was a crystal vase on a stand close to his bed, filled with a generous amount of lovely flowers. It looked nothing like the hospital rooms Harry was accustomed too, much fancier—friendly even.

"And _you_, Mr. Potter, are currently residing in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," Healer Richards finished proudly, his wand vanishing up his sleeve. Harry blinked, so he'd been right. Of course, not like it was the first time he'd taken a trip to the peculiar hospital.

Still... he he hadn't thought a simple tumble like he'd taken would need such extensive care, even if he _was _who he was.

Harry nodded, hoping it would be enough of a greeting with his still dry throat when he froze, his head swimming at the sharp movement. He thinned his lips, trying desperately to the nausea from introducing itself to the strangers in the room. He hated making sick in front of people. He had no need to worry thankfully—Healer Richards had shifted into action immediately.

The elder wizard handed him two vile-colored potions from the tray beside him. Harry took them shakily, downing them with as little required head-movement he could manage. Warmth bloomed in his chest and traveled up to his ears; pressure releasing through a whistling steam. His queasiness quieted down sooner after.

"I'm fine," he said, tightly, waving off Ms. Selwyn as she made to grab another case of potions. "Just give me a moment please."

After he'd appeared to collect himself the two Healers went to work. They gave him a thorough physical; checking his blood pressure, heartbeat and breathing—even shining a strange, small version of the_ Lumos_ charm into his eyes to check they were working right or whatever that told them. To be honest, Harry thought it a bit much, he'd been hit by a slow-moving car, not taken a tumble from his broomstick.

They appeared to be finished after a mind-numbing amount of time, during which Harry was reluctantly disappointed none of his friends or co-workers had appeared to check on him; they _had_ been alerted, he assumed. Healer Richards sought out his gaze, slipping his wand back into his robes as he took a seat in a chair at Harry's bedside. There was a strange hesitance to his movements that left Harry in a state of unease.

He gave the suddenly grave man a encouraging half-smile, not liking the swift change in character. Healer Richards gave him an answering expression before glancing down at his wrist-watch. A strange choice of accessory for a wizard, Harry noted. Was he waiting for something? Someone?

After a second of thoughtful consideration he dismissed the now _bouncing_ Ms. Selwyn with a firm nod. Harry attempted to thank her again as she flew out the door in a soft patter of heels of carpet.

Harry frowned, maybe it wasn't the Head Healer he had to worry about spilling tales—but his intern. He returned his attention to his healer as his stomach began to churn worriedly.

"Mr. Potter," Healer Richards started, it struck him that the man didn't call him 'Lord Potter' like so much of the populace, gaining him some of Harry's favor immediately, "I'm going to require your utmost attention—and humor," the whiskered man faltered, breaking his speech to clear his throat nervously.

Harry's unease grew, watching the previously delighted man's fingers knot themselves against his lap. Harry begun to imagine hypothetical scenarios, each one more horrible than the last—maybe he really was dying? Vernon's car causing a hemorrhage of the brain or some crack. The Healer managed to gather his words after a brief pause, though he continued to study the purple carpet, rather than Harry's inquiring emerald gaze:

"You see, well, I dare say Mr. Potter we had tried everything while you've been in our care—" Harry didn't like where this was going. Something was knotting in his chest, tension making every hair on his body stand on end. Harry had only been stuck by a car, why was this man going on with temperance as if he'd survived a third _Avada Kedavra_?

it's been…" Healer Richards struggled, hesitant to find the right word. When he finally managed to find one, it sputtered out of him, collapsing to a near whisper at the last syllable. "… awhile."

"Awhile?" Harry echoed, moving to rub the back of his aching neck. The movement took more effort than it ever had before. For whatever reason—_maybe this 'accident' you had_, his brain offered, but he finally managed it, the muscles in his arm straining against gravity.

"What Floor is this?" he asked suddenly. Richards gaped at him a moment, his pointed whiskers making the expression comical. He was obviously taken aback by Harry's first choice of words.

Harry narrowed his eyes at his lack of response and the elder healer jerked, unaccustomed by the fire in the previously tightly-shut eyes. He answered quickly, shifting in his chair warily.

"We have you on the Fourth Floor, Mr. Potter."

_Fourth Floor… Spell Damage. _Harry frowned, observing the Healer before him shrewdly. The man twitched under his perceptive gaze, uncomfortable by the examination.

Why would they have Harry on a floor specializing in unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly-applied charms.

"This… 'accident'," Harry worded carefully, glancing around him. His wand was nowhere in sight, and his stomach clenched in response. "Was anyone else injured?" He asked slowly, thinking of his aunt and cousin. Surely they would have had to be checked over as well.

"Anyone else," Richards mumbled, still reeling by the steely gaze of his would-be patient. "No—of course not. It was only you the spell hit, Mr. Potter."

"Spell?" Harry blinked. _Had he _survived another killing curse? From who? He'd been at a muggle-dominated area. Had someone struck him after the little mishap with the dog and Dudleys horrid driving? "What ward am I in?" he demanded, attempting to move from the bed. His legs refused to budge and Harry was left staring blankly at the unmoving limbs. They didn't even twitch.

Had he been paralyzed? From the car or from this mysterious spell he'd been hit by?!

_Merlin_

"Er—" His blank gaze sought the man who had yet to answer him.

"Which. Ward," Harry said, tightly, fear and confusion making his voice low… and dangerous. Healer Richards swallowed thickly, leaning back against his chair. He appeared to be sweating. He opened his mouth and the following words flopped out of his lips like a panting dog's tongue.

"We have you in the Janus Thickey Ward, M-Mr. Potter," Richards managed say smoothly with only a brief moment of pause.

Harry gaped.

* * *

Fun fact: originally this chapter involved a handsome, winged man…. yes it has changed a bit before being uploaded. Teehee.

PS: I also noticed how badly my previous chapters and likely this one need to be edited *shivers* at some point I will get on that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Bones **

_KryntheFae_

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Series belongs to JKR, of course, I am merely a humble fan of her work.

Ha. Look who was too excited about getting another chapter done to wait a decent about of time to post it! Thank you for your kind words, favorites and follows. They give me the confidence to keep improving and continue writing. : )

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"You really should be back in bed," Richards tittered warily.

The Healer looked miserable; even his mustache seemed to droop, he was so visibly upset at the state of his patient. Dazed grey eyes darted around the state of the room, mouth open in a wide unattractive gape.

Yet, despite his desire to have his medical advice taken the Healer remained in his squat position on the love-seat.

The stripped pink monstrosity had been blown back against the wall where it had teetered unstable under the window. A moment later the Healer had been pushed back onto the thick cushions, landing with a loud winded, "Oof!"

Random light-weight objects fell around them. Carried by a gust of wind that had appeared as Harry's fingers sparked and his verdant eyes began to glow. All because of Richards strange choice of words.

"What did you say?" Harry nearly stuttered. He bit his lip, attempting to remain in control of his emotions.

But it was his eyes that betrayed him; wide and confused. He leaned heavily against a mirrored closet on the opposite side of the room. His legs were shaking from the force he'd used to leap from his bed, startled by the crazed stories that had spilled from the Healer's mouths like Ron's beloved slugs.

Harry attempted another silent _accio_ but once again his wand did not fly into his waiting palm. It flexed anxiously, and Harry eyed the door as if a hoard of Death Eaters would be barreling through any second.

His gaze flicked back to the Healer who was now thumbing his own wand, hidden by the neon robes. One warning glare from Harry and the wizard hastened to clasp his hands tight, on their best behavior.

"Now I know you must be concerned Mr. Potter," Richards tried again, glancing around the room once more. He shifted in his seat, having not moved from it since giving Harry the _news_ of his situation. "—And confused! Rightfully so! But rest assured, this will all be sorted out soon enough." He started to lower himself to the floor, observing Harry with a careful, incredulous expression.

A vase fell from a nearby dresser, sending the Healer scrambling back onto the chair.

Harry gave the startled man a bemused frown, ignoring the gerber daises that floated around them. They hovered gently, tousled by the now gentle wind that continued to swirl around Harry protectively. His fingers twitched and another spark of energy lightninged between the digits.

Richards flinched at the sight. The man twirled one end of his mustache nervously, as though Harry might singe the slick oiled hair.

Instead of possibly irritating the irate wizard further by moving, Richards opened his already too-loose mouth, rambling on and on about a strange universe in which Harry had been 'asleep' most of his life.

_What rubbish!_

"You've been in a coma for seven years, I'm afraid to say—years eleven to seventeen to be perfectly exact. I've looked after you with the lovely Ms. Selwyn all that time, I'll have you know. Now, now, don't look at me like that, Mr. Potter! I'm being frank with you because as a Wizard of Age, by law, you have the right to know the truth!" Richards eyes shown with a righteous light, one hand fisted to illustrate the integrity in his words.

If he wasn't utterly mental Harry might have liked him.

"Though you are obviously coherent enough... _and better than ever_."

That last part had been muttered but Harry strained to understand every word of crockery that spilled from the fast-moving lips, all senses on high alert.

"We couldn't very well keep you in one of the other Ward's. Those beds are for our short-term patients." Richards shook his head at a daisy resting on a clump of broken glass, engrossed by his own story-telling. "No, as soon as we had diagnosed your condition the other Floor Heads and I accurately decided that the Janus Thickey Ward would be the best fit for you. It is the Ward for all our terminal patients, after all and you've been right at home here, slumbering peacefully all this time…" he paused, once again eyeing at Harry with a look of wonderment. The green-eyed wizard shivered.

"Until now."

The Healer sounded entirely too pleased with what had to be the stupidest, most inaccurate biography of his life he had ever heard, Harry decided, shaking his head with disbelief.

There were so many things wrong with this man's version of his life:

First, Harry was twenty-four years old—not seventeen! Second, he was quite sure he'd been _awake_ most of the time he'd been at Hogwarts, spending the good of his school years slaying ancient Basilisks and murderous dark lords. For fucks sake, he wouldn't have even defeated Voldemort, become an Auror straight afterwards, and become the ridiculous 'celebrity' he was now if he'd been in a coma all this time.

Yes, he'd heard hundreds of tales of his adventures but none had been as wrong and, if he was being honest _insulting_ as this man's. Harry eyed him strangely, wondering what had possessed this seemingly sane wizard to believe a self-fabricated lie that took away all of who Harry, himself, was.

Whatever the reason, the Healer seemed to be overcoming whatever mind-blowing shock he'd been in the second Harry had released his magic into the warded room.

Another strange thing; _everyone_ knew Harry Potter was proficient in wand-less magic. _The Daily Prophet_ had made sure of that. He had to be, with all the lingering Death Eaters out for his blood. Anyone with a decent disarming jinx was a threat to him and his friends.

Harry resisted the urge to groan, pressing heavier against the mirror. There was obviously no arriving threat—his only other visitor the blonde girl. If he was lucky he'd be out of this room and tucked into a warm Weasley bed before sunset, maybe even with a tummy filled with piping onion soup. Harry eyed the other male in the room, watching doubtfully as he fidgeted, giving different parts of the disheveled room increasingly distraught expressions.

He sighed tiredly. Maybe he'd give the man some credit. Perhaps he was a real Healer and he'd just _snapped_. Perhaps, tending to the "Savior of Our World" had been too much pressure and the man had simply cracked. He felt terrible that that was a possible reality, but if anything Harry was a realistic man. People were looking at him differently now, had been for years. It had taken him just as many to get even _close_ to used to the idea.

It was all going so well, Harry being merciful and giving people a good ol' fashioned benefit of the doubt when Richards spoke next:

"Your parents have been notified by Ms. Selwyn. They should be here any minute now," The Healer threw in cheerfully, as if he words should bring Harry comfort. Harry stiffened. All he heard was ruthless mockery.

Never-mind. Nope. The man was _completely barmy_. And he'd crossed a line.

"Where is my wand?" Harry asked tightly, he glared at 'Healer Richards' who had finally stood from his chair. The strange, unyielding presence came back to life, Harry's anger fueled magic choking the air and raising the hairs on the back of Fergus Richards vastly paling neck.

Harry tensed as the man finally pulled his wand from his robes, but he didn't fix it on Harry. Instead, cautious verdant eyes watched the Healer conjure something that reminded Harry of a startling corporeal patronus. It phased through the wall in a great spurt; passing through effortlessly like a ghost.

"Who did you call," Harry asked quietly, attention now split between the man and the door. Unbeknownst to himself Harry looked quite the picture. His crime scene of a hairstyle whipped around him devilishly, piercing, killing curse eyes blown wide with power. The effect was only slightly put-off as a feminine voice broke the stifling silence.

"Healer Richards did you need someth—Oh!"

The intern; Selwyn, burst through the door, only to stumble back by whiplash as Harry's cutting gaze focused entirely on herself. She clutched a new tray of potions in her trembling arms, one of which fell to the floor from the motion, spilling a thick banana-yellow sludge across the floor.

She gaped from the very upset Harry whose eyes had taken on a strange, glowing sheen, to her also gaping supervisor.

"W-What's going on?" Francine Selwyn squeaked. The young witch was frozen in place, her low blonde pony-tail threatening to come loose as another invisible gale teared through the room, the curtains shaking on their long thin rod. The woman nearly shrieked as the portrait of a beagle fell to the floor; the frame split into three pieces. "Who is doing this?" she asked loudly, eyes flitting around the room with terrified awe at the powerful use of wand-less magic.

"Harry." A name whispered with dread was all that escaped the Head Healer.

Selwyn squeaked again. There was another alarmed, high-pitch cry of _"How?!"_, which was momentarily answered by a somehow higher, panicked hiss: _"I don't know!"_

Harry cursed. His fingers wriggling as sparks of raw magic readied itself there. New strategies forged rapid-dash in his mind—an escape plan. As Head Auror of his squadron Harry was at home with dangerous situations. Quick-thinking, and quick reflexes had saved his life and the life of his co-workers more than once.

Just as he'd planned to threaten Richards into spilling information on his current whereabouts and who exactly was keeping him in this ruse of a hospital the door to his room opened again.

It was a woman. Oddly dressed; her embroidered pearl blue robes open down the middle displaying a ankle-length burgundy nightdress and pink ballet-style slippers. Not a second later a man followed, huffing and puffing and looking as if he'd taken a morning jog from the Hogwarts quidditch pitch all the way to the Headmistresses' Office. The man's clothes were just as strange. He wore what appeared to be a button-down shirt and hastily thrown on suit jacket, the dressy upper half at odds with the fluffy gold boxers and red socks, the ankle of which was stitched with a fluttering snitch.

Not unlike a pair he owned himself, Harry noticed offhand.

The strange wind died down immediately as their faces entered Harry's line of vision. There was a long minute of stillness before Harry finally lost control on the adrenaline racing through his body and collapsed onto his knees, unfeeling the sharp glass that sliced easily through his pajama pants, sinking into his skin with gravitational ease.

The woman stared for moment, watching him as he did her. He wondered, somewhere far away, if his eyes were as a wide and lost as the woman's—as if they'd seen a ghost.

The red-headed woman inhaled a single strangled breath before she was upon him. Harry couldn't breath, his mind lingering somewhere in the room and somewhere not. He bathed in the warmth of her embrace, unable to utter a single word as she fell beside his frozen body, pulling his buzzing head to her heaving chest.

"Harry! My Harry, you're back. _You came back to us,_" she was whispering, rocking their bodies with a strange reverence. Harry managed a choked sound of shock against her damp collarbone before falling silent once more.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" A deep male voice demanded. Harry peered up, his glasses fogged and smushed awkwardly on his face. He stared blankly at the man who could be his reflection. James Potter stood beside his… his mother, grasping her shaking shoulder in a show of support. Though his words were obviously not directed at him, his eyes remained locked on Harry.

Something deep and devout in Harry's heart told him nothing could tear that desperate, bloodshot hazel away.

* * *

Well, hopefully that answered some questions… though likely prompted many more. ; ) Please let me know what you think of the chapter, I do hope it came off well enough.

PS: I went over this chapter so many times, editing and changing different parts. I didn't realize how exhausting that could be and I'm sure there are many things I missed, goodness!


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